An Attack to the Senses
by Ella Press
Summary: (Based on a prompt by impish dragon.) After rescuing Kenzi from the kitsune cave, Dyson's in charge of looking after her. Suddenly, her rash is hurting her again. Grabbing what he thinks is a medical kit, Dyson unleashes a very old curse that ensnares its victim's senses, making them obsessed with the first thing they see. And the very first thing Dyson sees, is Kenzi. Rated M.
1. 1: Spell Unleashed

A/N: Hi, beautiful people! First off, this will be loaded with 3x06 and on spoilers, so stay away from it until you've watched it (I'm sure that if you're like me, you've seen it at least three times).

Today, I'm starting a new project, my first _Lost Girl_ fic! I'm a super-huge Kenzi/Dyson shipper, I don't understand how the show's writers can give us what they give us, and still have Dyson pining after Bo. Oh, well. (And now they're trying to pair her up with Hale? Hello, zero chemistry between those two.)

This will be a six chapter fic, this first one being the one that sets everything in motion, and the remaining five will each cover one of the five human senses. Because, here's the thing: it's based on a prompt by **impish_dragon** on LJ. I've seen another one of these fics here, but I wanted to give it a go too.

Impish said:

_Somehow Dyson ends up addicted to Kenzi via the five senses. (Ex: He becomes addicted to the sound of her voice. Or you can get even more specific, like he is addicted to the way she says his name.)_

_Musts:_

_*No one can figure out what's happening until at least the second sense._

_*All five senses must be used._

_*Kenzi and Dyson cannot have a previous attraction to each other but I do want them to end up together._

_Whether they find a cure for him is up to you. Any rating is fine._

I'm rating this M because of reasons ;) Please R&R if you feel like it. Reviews are like special crack to me.

Oh, and don't go asking me when I'll update. I don't even know.

Disclaimer: I don't own Lost Girl, and if I did, I'd want _this_ to happen.

**1: Spell Unleashed**

_Look at her. She's so tiny, wrapped up in that warm, huge blanket and curled up on the sofa like the small human creature that she is._

She smells of earth and mildew and rotting things, but underneath all the putrid smells, he can still make out the signature scent that he associates with her. Vanilla… and something flowery that is all her, because he knows damn well that she's not the sort of girl who would use girly perfumes.

The sedative the doc has given her has taken its sweet time to kick in. No one but her knows that she's afraid of sleeping now. Afraid to lose those she loves again. She's been on the brink of losing them one too many times, and some days, she's certain that she's living in a dream and that if she so much as closes her eyes, everything will be lost to the darkness once more. But the food she so needed has calmed her body's urges, making the effects of the sedative that much stronger.

And so she sleeps, while Dyson watches over her. Her lithe little body moves around on the makeshift bed, almost inaudible whispers escaping her lips. Her brow is set on a firm frown and it seems that nothing is able to erase it from her face. This is how he now knows, too, why she was so stubborn only hours ago, when they had to force her to let Lauren inject her skin.

Those sounds she's making and the way her body keeps contorting confirm his suspicions about why she didn't want to get some rest. Her dreams can only be nightmares, horrible images she's desperately trying to push away from her.

He doesn't know what to do with himself, how to help her. Sometimes, Kenzi looks so fragile, and yet, he knows just how strong she really is. But right now, he fears his slightest touch might break her. She's tossing around so furiously now, the coverlet thrown aside, that he can see the red, angry rash on her arm shining against her snow white skin. An injury he'd thought was gone; he has no idea how it's come back like this.

And they've left him alone, in charge of her. He knows Lauren should be here, or perhaps even Bo. Maybe her voice would be able to soothe her. He hasn't tried to touch her yet, hasn't spoken a word. _Would it do any good?_, he wonders. She's so far gone into her nightmarish world, he's not even sure she'd be able to hear him.

Her increasing cries are like slashes to his heart; he doesn't know how no one can hear her and it looks like it's just him now. He needs to move quick if he wants to help her.

Not touching her –she doesn't seem to be falling out of the sofa-, he runs to the many shelves Trick has built-in down here over the years. Vials, bottles, boxes, so many little and big things occupy them, and yet he has no clue what he's searching for.

A piercing scream makes him turn around and the sight that greets him sends a shivering chill running down his spine. His friend is twisting on the sofa, her body half on the air, half against the cushions. He can see the whites of her eyes as they turn inwards in her pain.

The blistering-like rash on her forearm taunts him again, reminding him whose fault it is that she got it for in the first place.

He moves through Trick's belongings with double-speed. Some things fall to the floor, shattering and releasing different scents, but the only one he's concerned with now is the smell of terror emanating from Kenzi. From the corner of his eye, he spots something, a box of some wood that smells like hospital disinfectant. _A first aid kit._

He doesn't even pay attention to the symbol on the lid, doesn't question what could be hiding inside the wooden contraption. Kenzi's screams have stopped, but so has her breathing, and Dyson's starting to sweat like he's never done before, his heart running even faster than when he's in wolf form.

Kenzi's twig-like limbs have fallen haphazardly about her and her chest rises no more. Dyson can't hear her heart any longer. Her ice blue eyes remain open, but they hold no life inside them.

To him, it's like being in his loft all over again, feeling that vacuum in his chest just taking everything away. He does not dare touch her, but he knows he has to; and so, with the utmost care, he scoops her up in his arms and cradles her lifeless body against his own.

She's warm still, and as soft as he knows her to be. There's a little voice in his brain that tells him that maybe this is an impostor all over again, that his friend is still out there, waiting for him to come and save her.

He's already cried for her. He wishes he could cry now, but the tears won't come. His mind is not fuzzy anymore; Tamsin's hold on it has been gone from him for some time now. Still, his brain is a mess of thoughts and images, all starring Kenzi and their time together.

Whatever little time they've had has imprinted itself on the inside of his skull, permanently. If he thought her screams were slashing at his heart, then he thinks this is what will definitely kill it. A second time she's died in his arms, and here he is, unable to bring her back.

Really, there's nothing left for him to feel. This little human woman has taken everything he had with her. Everything she'd saved, too.

He feels nothing but defeat; his head is too heavy for him to hold upright and it falls on Kenzi's chest, just as he's bringing her closer to him, still. There, his nose picks up on her scent again, that smell that would fill the room whenever she walked in.

He doesn't notice it, but his body instinctually begins a rocking motion, both to soothe him and her, although it won't do her any good now. In that instant, he's sure he's going crazy. Because there's no way he's feeling what his senses are screaming at him.

It might be insanity, but he still needs to make sure. His left ear presses down on Kenzi's chest so hard, that were she awake, she'd be batting him away and complaining that he respect her personal space. But of course, he's not thinking like that right now. Because what's drawing his attention is nothing less than a faint whisper, fluttering inside her.

Dyson quickly removes his head from her body, looks her over and almost cries out in gratitude as he notices her eyes dancing behind her eyelids. Had he not had his wolf sight, he wouldn't have been able to see it, so minute the movement was. But, he is an Alpha, and his senses are on high alert, all dedicated to care for his friend as if she were one of his own kind.

She is not yet gone, but he fears that if he does not do something to help her she will be out of his reach in minutes. A sharp something stabs him in the hip. His eyes momentarily leave Kenzi's face to see what the offending object can be, and they find the wooden box he'd taken not two minutes before.

Convinced he must treat her wound -for what other thing could be hurting her so?-, he sets her on the sofa again, very gently, and takes the box from where he'd dropped it.

He must be fast, her breath seems to be coming back to normal, but the rash on her arm appears to be spreading. No, he's _sure_ it's grown at least a couple of centimetres.

The latch on the box is a tricky thing. Why would a medical kit be locked like this? As he opens is, his hearing straining to pick up any sound from Kenzi, he's hit by a cloud of dust on his face and he must cough to regain control of his breathing.

The wooden box falls unceremoniously to the floor under the sofa, its contents spilled all over the Alpha wolf that used his strength to pry it open. Already kneeling, Dyson's hands grab on to the edge of the sofa where Kenzi's heart is already picking up speed inside her. His head meets her chest, an immense feeling of gratefulness washing over him as her heart beats in time with his again.

He does not dare open his eyes yet. He doesn't want to break this spell and find her already gone, this time for real. He is not sure how he would cope with that situation, did it ever arise. How would he face the woman he loves, her big sister (for that is what these two women are right now, their bond more than a mere friendship), when he had to tell her that she was lost to them yet again? It is not something he thinks he could endure.

The loss of this little, but powerful human… it would be his downfall. He is sure of it.

Something comes to rest on his head, on his dirt-covered hair. A light touch, delicate, that makes his heart beat faster in his chest.

Here is the confirmation he was looking for: The knowledge that she _will _be okay, because he will make sure of it. He notices with delight the little motions her chest makes as she draws breath and as that same breath leaves her.

_She is breathing. _

Her fingers intertwine with his hair, dirty and bloody like her own. And even though it is insane (he's already covered the insanity part of himself today), he swears he can feel the giddiness she's feeling from the way her heart sings.

He says nothing, doesn't move. She is someone that confuses him so; he wouldn't know what to say to her if he opened his eyes now, wouldn't know how to read her. So he waits, and she lets him, comforting him with her slow caresses.

That she should be the one to comfort him does not go unnoticed by him. Again, he feels the strength flowing in her veins calling out to him, like it has done so many times before.

His breathing has settled down, finally. He's not sure how to proceed, but he knows she'll have the answer. A small laugh from her manages to pull him out of his thoughts and bring him to the present, to this cellar that has been witness to so many crazy things.

His head feels, suddenly, filled with a thick substance, and he shakes it to try and get it to go away. It doesn't, but he could care less about how he's feeling. It's her who's important right now.

Small, human Kenzi, with her stubborn mind and her Russian swearing that always steals a smile from him. She's trying to move under him, he can tell. His head is still buried in her chest. Still trying to convince his brain that it's really happening, he helped get her back and she's _alive and here._

A small tug from her fingers lets him know that he needs to lift his large head from her body. Surely, he's crushing her and her lungs need all the oxygen they can get right now.

As if she truly were part of his pack, he swears she has just read his mind. For the first thing that comes out of her mouth, in a terribly hoarse voice, is, "Hey, wolf-man. Not that I don't appreciate the love, but do you think you could maybe give me space to breathe, here?"

The muscles on his face hurt like hell when the biggest grin breaks through. He hadn't smiled in so long, he was sure his face had forgotten how. _Apparently not._ But, then again, Kenzi does always manage to make him smile, even if he doesn't let the others see it.

He waits until his head is up to look at her. The thick, swirling mist is getting heavier in his brain, he feels worse than after a particularly nasty hangover. He cannot tell at this point if he is dreaming or awake, or if this is anywhere in between. He doesn't really care, now.

Everything that matters to him is the sight in front of him.

Her hand is still in his hair, tracing circles on his scalp that he barely notices. It's her eyes what ensnare him. Those piercingly brilliant eyes he'd lost hope of ever seeing again. He does not see anything other than her blue orbs looking up at him.

And then she smiles, and the movement pushes his attention to the way her face shifts as she makes the effort to look brave for him. She's so tired, he can tell, that she barely manages to move her head to look at him better. Exhaustion is clear on her face and on the way her hand drops to her side, without her even bothering to place it beside her body.

He notices this, but he cannot move to help her, cannot stop memorising her every feature: Her impossibly long eyelashes, the tiny beauty marks above her lips, or the silver flecks that dust her eyes. It all becomes clear in his mind's eye, clearer than anything else.

Her smile falters, her body too tired to sustain it, and he wonders what he can do to make her feel better.

This is the moment he realises he would do just about anything to keep her safe. But what frightens him is the intensity of those feelings. He will have to talk to her about it, but later, now is not the time.

Her brow deepens, ever so slightly. Without her having to voice her thoughts, he knows he's scaring her with the force of his stare. And because he does not wish her to be scared, not ever again, not in her waking hours and not in her dreams, he does the first thing that comes to mind.

He brushes her cheek with his hand and he gives her his biggest smile yet.


	2. 2: Sight - Part One

A/N: Remember when I said this would be split into six chapters? Well, I can't seem to make them shorter, so quite possibly every sense will be divided into two parts.

For all of you that came here because I rated this M, bear with me, and you will be rewarded. I like to build up the tension before getting to the good stuff.

And to all of you who have been reviewing and "favourite-ing" this fic: THANK YOU OMG. I so, so, so LOVE you. I told you reviews were my favourite brand of drug, so _keep giving them to me!_ Tell me where you see this going, I'd love to read that!

**Disclaimer: I don't own Lost Girl; I'm merely borrowing its world and changing it up to suit my fantasies. **

**2: First Sense: Sight – Part One**

Never before has he lost his grip on reality the way he's losing it now. Of course, he doesn't realise it, doesn't even question it yet. The world blurs at the edges, and the centre of his entire universe becomes _her_.

The raven haired girl with the huge heart.

Her eyelids flutter quickly, the sound of her tired sighs the only thing he can hear. He's still got his hand over her skin, his thumb moving about distractedly, trying to shift her thoughts away from the horrors of her mind.

He does not even need to speak; it is as if an unspoken bond has been built between the two: She looks up at him a last time, her eyes as big as ever and a question burning behind them. Of course he knows what's on her mind; he knows what's frightening her and what she's asking him.

Once upon a time she'd asked him to stay beside her, convinced she was living the final hours of her short life after having ingested a rather poisonous, but not at all unpleasant, bowl of foot soup. Back then, he'd promised her he'd stay. He wonders now how on earth he could have been so selfish as to break that promise.

But he won't break his promise now.

He flicks his thumb over her cheek once, twice, the corners of his mouth moving upwards in recognition. His eyes try to convey everything he's thinking, and he knows she's understood him when, at last, she gives him a final smile and lets the weight of her head fall completely over his open palm.

He stays like this, with her sleeping beside him, no nightmares haunting her, for what seems like hours, but in reality are no more than five minutes. He is trying to commit to memory every little detail of her body, and, by extension, of her character. If only he were an artist, he'd paint her over and over again, in every possible style he could imagine.

But, alas, he is just Dyson. Wolf-man Dyson. Hard headed, millennia old, loving Dyson.

He cannot stop wondering if all of that will be enough.

He will have to do something about it. She needs so much more than what he can give her, that he'll make the effort if he has to. Whatever it takes, he will protect her against anything and everything. He can feel the fury of this statement build up inside him like nothing he's ever experienced before.

With nothing else to do, he has started counting: He counts her eyelashes, the time between her heartbeats and her breaths, the tiny, almost non-existent freckles that cover the skin over her neck, her collarbone, the top of her breasts. He could stay here forever if she did.

He picks up one of her hands and brings it up for inspection. Her fingers, like the rest of her, are slender things, almost metres long. At the thought, he laughs aloud. That is a silly thought, indeed, to think that fingers could be metres long. But hers _do_ seem like it.

Only once he's seen her play the drums. Now he can't stop but wonder if she could play the piano, too. Her hands seem made for it.

The enamel on her nails has been chipped off in places, no doubt from her fruitless attempts to escape the cave she was trapped in. His own fingers tighten on hers (making sure not to break her delicate bones) and a low growl rolls in his chest as he spots the now almost-gone rash on her arm and remembers the fox that had kidnapped her.

He still cannot wrap his head around the idea of having been fooled like that by that foul creature. Not even Tamsin's part in playing with his head can take away the self-loathing that's engulfing him. _It_ had looked so much like his Kenzi, smelled like her even, that he hadn't even wanted to hear what Bo was screaming at all of them.

Of course Bo would know it wasn't her. But weren't you supposed to believe everything the person you think you love with your entire being is telling you?

He's had his love back for a while now, but sometimes it's like he doesn't even care all that much.

He should have known, he thinks. He should have noticed the changes between the fox and Kenzi, should have seen the deception in the way the impostor acted around him. But he _chose_ not to.

He remembers now how _her_ body had felt as he'd walked to her from behind, how inviting it had been, how delicious it had smelled. Like a moth to a flame, he had been trapped by _her_ spell, and consciously at that.

She had looked over her shoulder at him, with her stolen eyes, and given him a look that he hadn't known he had been waiting to see on her face. And so he'd stayed beside the fox, curious about where that may lead, what it all meant. Never wondering _what_ was really next to him, or where his real Kenzi was being kept.

And then she'd turned around, circling his too-big-for-her waist with her thin, breakable arms, driving him into an even deeper state of confusion. He had thought about Bo in the cellar, but in a strange way. No longer worried about how this would look if she saw them, he'd started wondering if she had already let him go forever, and if maybe it was time for him to do the same with her.

As if there is still a part of his heart linked to her, his senses pick up on the woman currently walking down the steps, each one of them resonating inside his mind like gongs going off in an enclosed space. _There_ is the fog again, that blurriness Tamsin's spell had cast on him before. He'd thought it had dissipated, but like with so many things today, he cannot possibly be sure of himself anymore.

His eyes find Kenzi's face again, and stay there as the others find their way towards them over the sofa. She hasn't moved an inch, so tired her body must be, but he hasn't either, so as not to disturb her. It's nothing to him, either way. The warmth of her skin on his is a reassurance of her safety. It calms him, inside.

He's aware of Bo and Trick standing behind him: Their scents have always been strong. But he can't help compare those memories to how he's sensing them now. How they pale beside Kenzi's stronger presence.

There was a time when he would have removed his hand as carefully as he could, and walked away before anyone got the chance to ask him things he was not quite ready to respond truthfully. The mere thought of leaving the woman on his arms, now, feels worse than any treacherous bite from someone he'd considered a friend.

Thankfully, he's not ordered to leave. No one says anything; they don't want to disturb Kenzi's dreams with nonsensical questions about her wellbeing. The previously empty place at her feet is occupied by Bo, who looks at her as tenderly as she would a blood sister, or even a daughter.

Bo's hand caresses the human's legs, a smile always present on her face. Suddenly, Dyson must remember who she is and what his place in all of this is as well, because in that instant he feels like ripping Bo's hand off her arm.

Kenzi's arms rest over the blanket, out for anyone to see her recurring injury. Bo's face twists unpleasantly as she picks up Kenzi's arm, and Dyson is left wondering if she could possibly be feeling the same as he.

Surely, she can't, or at least, not as strongly as him. Again, the memory of Bo claiming Kenzi as _hers_ threatens to make Dyson want to lash out at his former lover. In a brief second of clarity, he notices how clouded his judgement has become, because he knows that wouldn't be a wise thing to do. But he can't help himself from imagining what he would do to anyone who called his Kenzi _theirs_.

Out of nowhere (and this really scares him, for he's seldom surprised like this), Lauren steps into his line of vision, to touch the rash on Kenzi's arm. A frown larger than Bo crosses her face. Dyson has to supress the urge to seize her and demand to know what's wrong.

But, just as easily as it appeared, her frown straightens as Lauren exhales loudly. Making a colossal effort, Dyson waits for her diagnosis.

"It's okay, Bo," she says with a small smile. It has the intended effect, calming both Bo and Dyson. "Patients can sometimes have a small allergic reaction to the sedative I administered. And considering the intense essence that fell on Kenzi's arm, this was bound to happen. It's just a mirage of what it was, and I'm sure it'll be completely gone in a few hours."

Two almost identical sighs of relief escape Bo and Dyson's lips. He cannot see the quizzical look on her face, so intent he is on making sure Kenzi's still breathing, but it's there nonetheless. And it's jumping on to Trick's and Lauren's expressions as well.

The three of them know how much Dyson cares for Kenzi, how he always manages to do things for her, even if she never finds them out. They've seen him watch over her on those nights when the feeling of darkness and loneliness overwhelms her.

That feeling that screams at her that she's an outsider in this world sometimes becomes too much for her to bear, and she feels she has no alternative but to go to the Dal and steal liquor from Trick's top shelf (thievery that Trick pretends never to be aware of), and to piss herself to the point of no return.

On said nights, a short, to-the-point text message is delivered to Bo's mobile phone, where he lets her know that she needn't worry about their little friend. After lying awake for some time (because, really, she cannot help but worry), Bo tells herself that Kenzi could be nowhere better than at Dyson's, and she finally falls asleep.

The look of complete surrender plastered on Dyson's face right now is like nothing that has ever clouded his face before. His three friends find themselves too stunned to move, or speak.

They look from one to the other, wondering if only one of them has gone mad or if they're all seeing this right. Trick takes a step forward, making a racket as he walks (everyone knows you don't sneak up on a wolf and escape with all of your limbs). He silently wills Bo away and she quickly understands.

Taking the spot Bo just vacated by Kenzi's feet, Trick looks over at his wolf friend. Dyson doesn't even flinch. Kenzi's chosen this moment to start muttering in her sleep and she's captured Dyson's every thread of attention.

Bo has no idea what to do, but it's clear to her that there's something wrong going on here and that she has to protect her sister, before something bad happens. Before Trick can warn her, though, she's moved to take Kenzi away from Dyson. She immediately learns what a bad move this is.

Her breath is knocked out of her as Dyson flings her away, jumping up to cover Kenzi's unconscious body with his own. She stumbles, but fortunately Lauren's there to stop her from falling down.

They can all see, now, the amber glittering in his eyes; that golden colour that resembles the light of the sun so, so much.

And, naturally, Dyson can feel the shift in himself and in the air about him. The fear that is floating over him is as thick as the mist covering his mind. It takes him a couple of seconds and a glance to his old friend to realise _he's_ the cause of their fear. Their eyes all tell him so.

He registers the position he's in. _How did he come to be like this? _Slowly, he wills his wolf to settle down, convincing himself that there's no danger in this room. His eyes regain their normal blue hues as he relaxes.

He blinks a few times, shakes his head. He struggles to find his voice; in the end, it's there, smaller than before, yes, but _there_.

"I'm sorry," he mutters, his head hung over his chest. "I didn't mean to attack you, Bo. Please forgive me."

Bo looks to Lauren for reassurance and finds it in the doc's gentle eyes. She pushes forward, kneeling beside Dyson, and carefully places her hand on his shoulder.

"I know," she says. A heavy sigh comes out of her, a sound that makes him look up at her big, brown eyes. He sees the dark bags under them, marks that remind him of her vulnerability. "We've all been through a lot today. I know you didn't mean me any harm."

As she smiles at him, he reads so many things in that gesture. The smile he returns holds as much meaning as hers.

"What do you say we take Kenzi home?" asks Dyson. "I'm sure she'd love to be in her bed, and not here sleeping on this hard sofa."

Already he's feeling his wits coming back to their, not normal (what does normal even mean?), but regular state. His need to keep Kenzi safe is still burning inside his chest, but he knows he's among people who love her too. He knows they can be trusted with her.

"Yeah, okay," says Bo, patting his shoulder.

A fine layer of dust flies out of his clothing as she does this. _No doubt filth from the kitsune cave_, thinks Bo. Trick, on the other hand, is already thinking of a different explanation.

Too tired to carry Kenzi's (astoundingly) still sleeping shape, Bo lets Dyson do the hard work. Her mind is not on her wolf friend's behaviour anymore, but on Tamsin and her sudden disappearance. She would have liked to thank her better, and she makes a mental note to remember to do it later, when the chance arises.

With Dyson leading the way to Bo's excuse of a car, Trick ponders in his mind about all the alternatives to the wolf's reactions. Years and years and _years_ he's known him, and he takes pride in recognising strange symptoms in his friend. Still, he says nothing, and makes it his task to figure out what could be happening to Dyson.

Bo is a little surprised when Dyson, still carrying Kenzi, settles in her back seat without even saying a word to her. She makes no comment, though, and enters the car herself.

Ever the dedicated doctor, Lauren has some final medical recommendations, and she rests her hands on Bo's open window to tell her to give Kenzi as much liquid as possible.

Dyson is already taking notes of this. A little glimmer of thanks sparks up in him, directed at the doc. And to think he didn't even stand the sight of her before.

He can feel the car come to life as Bo revs the engine: The movements, however infinitesimal they are, reverberate in his every muscle. But he shakes the feelings away, focusing only on the sleeping woman on his lap.

His eyes travel downward to her small face. And the spell hits him with such a force that it's like someone's shot him in the chest.


	3. 3: Sight - Part Two

A/N: Hey, peeps! Told ya you'd have long waits ahead. I don't have a Beta, so any mistakes you find, please let me know so I can correct them.

I'm amazed by the response I'm getting with this fic. And of course, I love writing this, so expect many cool chapters in the following weeks. I think I should write as much as I can in one sitting, because the alternative is what happened between the last update and this: I sort of lose my mojo and have to get it back by watching some episode of LG (I watched ConFaegion this morning, freaking hilarious!)

**Anigen** (hi there!) said that she "kind of loves this even though she doesn't like that he had feelings for her before". I'm trying to work around this, and I wouldn't say that it's 100% sure he did have romantic feelings for her, he's just always been this protective of Kenzi, and just now he's beginning to realise why and how profoundly his feelings for her go.

Enjoy the _chappy_ and feed me reviews! I'm starving for them!

OH! And if someone is feeling the love and wants to whip me up a cover, I'll love you forever and ever.

**Disclaimer: I don't own Lost Girl; I'm merely borrowing its world and changing it up to suit my fantasies.**

**3: First Sense: Sight – Part Two**

Drenched in sweat and dirt, his heart hammering in his chest and not a thread of clothing covering his body, Dyson enters his loft. His first, immediate thought is to get rid of the bloody sheets still on his bed. He does not even think of washing them, his mind is already set on torching the set until there's not a trace of them any longer.

He crosses the length of his loft in a split second and finds himself quickly pulling the covers off the mattress, tearing them in the process. The sheets are cold to the touch, caked in fox blood and his own sweat from when his world was coming undone.

The things _reek _of death.

Suddenly, the need to scrub every surface _it_ touched until they're clean is all he knows. And this includes him. _Especially him. _Dyson knew coming home so soon was a bad idea, he just didn't know _how_ bad of an idea it was. Everything reminds him of the impostor, of his betrayal to Kenzi, and of his sense of loss, that feeling that is not bloody leaving him, even though he knows Kenzi's fine at her home.

Maybe a cold shower will clear his head, he thinks, making his way to the bathroom.

There's no need for him to undress, he's already stark naked, his clothes left forgotten who knows where. Icy water hits him as he steps under the shower head, every drop feeling like a needle on his sensitive skin. But it's what he needs: The cold is already breaking his fever, making steam come off his body. His head still feels woozy, no matter how hard he's tried to dissipate the fog clinging to it.

He will not be able to shake off the feeling, no matter what he tries, but he doesn't know this yet.

Hours of running, of overanalysing everything he's going through, and he's completely drained of energy. His legs are not able to keep him upright anymore. Every one of his muscles aches and, before long, he's sitting in the corner of his shower, his head against the cold tiles and his eyes drooping closed.

Even now, after having had hours to think it through, he is still mad at Bo for kicking him out of the club house after dropping Kenzi on the sofa. And he's furious at Lauren, too, for showing up and ganging up on him with Bo, and making him leave. He doesn't remember how it happened, but he knows that there's something off about him, if two females were able to throw him out against his wishes.

The blast of cold water on his face is helping him regain some of the composure he was not able to find in his run. A voice inside his head tells him how it would be so much better if Kenzi were here, taking care of him.

His response is instant and his wolf becomes alert: Dyson knows that Kenzi is the one that needs to be taken care of; he will never again be so consciously selfish when it comes to her. His suspicions rise yet again, but he can't put a finger on whatever is afflicting him. As soon as he starts thinking about it, his mind decides to take his thoughts elsewhere, to a place where _she_ reigns over everything.

For the last five hours, it's the only thing his brain's been doing.

But, come to think of it, it is not such a bad place, is it? He sees it all very clear in his mind's eye: Her extended hand beckoning him to come closer, to be with her and not have another care in the world.

He would like that. It would be so _easy_.

So he goes to her. Very slowly, because he's afraid he might upset this daydream's precariousness. A halo shines all around her and nothing else exists in this dreamland they share. He takes notice of every single little thing about her and compares it to the images of her he stores in his brain.

Here, her hair is all ebony black, stripped of those funky colours she loves so much. There's not a trace of make-up on her, neither on her face nor anywhere else. It makes her pristine skin look all the more resplendent. A white, almost translucent nightgown falls over her shoulders, clinging to her body, whispering little secrets as she drifts towards him. Again, he's struck by the thought he shared with her a while ago.

He told her once that she was the bravest human he had ever met, and looking at her small frame now, he wonders once more how on earth she's capable of going through everything the Fae world throws at her and coming out (relatively) unscathed.

To protect her feels like a calling from above, because he's damn sure every Fae god will punish him for not taking care of this angel.

He knows he's still in his shower (his mind is not yet _that_ far gone), but the feelings from his daydream are so very real, and he can't say that he's not enjoying them. Every aspect of his real life is one fucked up mess, but here… here he feels at home, guarded by her.

When he reaches her, her hand falls over his shoulder, her eyes wide and a smile on her face. The feeling translates to a real sensation; he's left wondering if maybe the water is playing tricks on him, of if by some off chance, Kenzi's really here next to him.

Of course she isn't, he knows that. But wouldn't it be nice if she were?

Answering his troubled expression, she gives him a carefree laugh, a tinkling sounding little giggle that makes his eyes fly open. Pressed up next to him, for his shower is a small thing, is Kenzi, looking exactly like in his daydream.

She's come to check on him, he thinks, she's here to make sure he's okay, just like what he so often does with her. His eyes fall to her hand still sitting on his skin. It's there, all right, he can see it and feel it. Her smile hasn't gone anywhere and he finds it's contagious, erasing his problems off his face.

He can't see, yet, how the water doesn't soak her hair or her clothes. He doesn't notice that the halo from his dream is still around her, even though in his haste to wash off his filth, he hadn't turned on the bathroom light. All he does see is that she is fine.

He struggles to pull himself together, get his body off the wall and sit straight. The cold doesn't affect him anymore; he's grown used to it. He's got to shake his arm a bit to get some feeling back into it, because it's been against the tiles for too long.

His brow furrows and he heaves a sigh, lifting his right hand to cup her cheek. In the moment he moves, she withdraws her hand, wagging her index finger at him, reprovingly. There's nowhere for her to run, trapped in here with him, and that knowledge steals another, louder, giggle from her. He's about to learn the truth about her and it amuses her.

His mind spins again, hearing her laughter, but his hand doesn't stray from its set course. When he's a hair away from touching her, a nail (or what feels like one) sticks on his hand as he moves it over the place where her face ought to be.

_It is impossible_, he thinks. Her image does not fade, smiling mischievously, waiting for him to realise that sometimes, impossible things _do_ tend to happen. It takes him a full minute to get his bearings, to remember things that seem to have happened a lifetime ago at the cellar of the Dal.

As understanding comes to him, Kenzi's mirror image waves goodbye and is gone. His heart beats faster and his chest inflates and deflates as his lungs strain to get deeper breaths in. It looks like mirror-Kenzi took her nail with her; Dyson doesn't know what to think or do, but cover his face with both his hands.

His fingers feel like raisins; he had not realised he'd been under the water that long. A part of him is howling, wishing to see Kenzi, make sure she is real and not a figment of his imagination like the _thing_ that was just here.

The better part of him is ordering him to get some sleep, and maybe get help to figure out what is wrong with him.

He feels worse than after spending a long night with Bo. His hand automatically fishes for his towel as he walks back into the main area of his loft. The heat perpetually coming off him works better to dry him than any piece of cloth he might brush over his skin, but it's a habit that dies hard.

His eyes are hurting, and he can't remember the last time he had to use his eye drops. Ages ago, for sure. Still, he remembers keeping them in one of the kitchenette's cabinets.

He doesn't bother with his hair; he just lets the water drip off it on its own, and walking to the kitchen area, he wraps the towel over his hipbone.

After his hands are free, he pinches the bridge of his nose with two fingers. An aspirin will help with his headache, too, or three, maybe.

Even with his eyes closed, he has no need to see where he's going. His footsteps echo through the wide loft, helping him orient himself. He hears sirens blaring in the distance, outside. Shouting, and running, and glasses shattering. A nightly orchestra he knows well.

Then he gets to the kitchenette, his fingers leaving his face and his hand aiming for the cabinet where he believes his eye drops are. Jumping backwards, he nearly screams like a little girl. He contains the scream, but he is not taking any chances. He runs to take cover behind the wooden table he keeps in front of his stove, as if it could do something to ward her off.

Naturally, she wouldn't have made any sound. _She is not real._ Yet, she is here, sitting on the kitchen counter, her legs dangling in the air. And her smile is still _there, _for some reason. She does not move. He is not sure if she is waiting for him to trust her, to then bite him in the arse, or if she really is harmless.

They enter a staring competition. To her, it's a game: He realises it from the way she laughs and from her posture, so relaxed, as opposed to his taut stance.

After a long while, she appears to be getting bored. Her head lolls to the side and her eyebrows shoot up on her forehead, disappearing behind her fringe. She exhales and turns her back to him. Before he can decide what to do, if attacking her would work, she's reaching into the cabinets and searching (he's absolutely sure) for his damned eye drops.

As she drops to the floor, her non-existent feet bounce without making a sound. It's a marvel that he can hear the rustling of her nightgown but not the sounds her body should be making as she moves to stand beside him.

She puts her left hand on the table, resting the weight of her body on it, and lifts her right one. He's presented with the tiny bottle, which is actually suspended in the air in front of his face, but of course he doesn't register this. He still sees her, pouting at him, telling him to cut the crap with her expression.

He is not taking the drops from her. Unconsciously, he's taken a couple of steps backwards and away from this image his mind is so desperate to show him. At this, she actually rolls her eyes at him, a gesture he's seen in the real her one too many times.

Leaving the drops on the table, she turns around, her hand flying up into the air and making a "peace out" sign that is so _her._ He does not blink, waiting to see the second when she disappears. And just like that, she is reclaimed by the dreamland he was in not long ago.

There's a lump in his throat that he fights to swallow. Both his hands are splayed over the surface of the table, his eyes fixed on the impossible little bottle in front of him. If he took a look at himself in the mirror, he'd see the maroon in his eyes, the black under them looking like he's borrowed Kenzi's kohl pencil.

His hand ghosts over the place where the bottle waits for him. It looks safe enough. And mirror-Kenzi hasn't tried to hurt him. _Yet_. So there's no reason to think these aren't his regular eye drops, right?

Without a second thought, he's lifted the bottle and put two drops on each eye. Behind him, mirror-Kenzi huffs, almost like she's saying, "Took you long enough".

He turns to find her on his small sofa, her chest pressed against its back and her head resting on her folded arms as she looks up at him. She is trying to supress a grin, but failing miserably.

At this point, Dyson's convinced himself to ignore her. He's got most of his mind under his own control; the spell is not as strong without the real Kenzi around to fuel it.

He needs to sleep it off. Before he can do that, though, he has to make his bed again.

Kenzi immediately jumps up and runs to his side, looking like a five-year-old waiting to play with him. He's glad she's acting like this; it reminds him that she's not really here. For all of Kenzi's playfulness, she would never be caught dead looking as silly as this girl.

He doesn't know it, but he shouldn't have thought of that. For now the spell has another, very important, piece of information to mess with him.

Standing by his bed, Dyson sees that the blood has seeped into the mattress. He will have to buy a new one, but for now he turns it over, before grabbing new sheets to dress the bed. Mirror-Kenzi's anxious to help him, and he lets her, lest he make her angry or something of the sort.

Taking the last pillow off the floor, Dyson looks up, and finds that she's gone. Good. _God, he needs rest_. He plops down on the mattress, covering his naked body with the covers.

Just like in the shower, he feels something next to him. He refuses to open his eyes, but the spell is now stronger and it forces him to look to his right.

His every sense screams at him that this _is_ the real her. At least it looks like her, which is what the spell is after. Her hair has gotten back its many colourful shades and her eyes are made up just like the actual Kenzi.

Poor Dyson is so tired, so exhausted, and his mind is burning and turning and pounding, that he can't fight it anymore.

He thinks this must be the real her. She is actually here. Or maybe she isn't, but right now he doesn't care. He can't stop looking at her face. They both lay on their sides, facing one another.

_Dream_, she tells him.

He does.

That _is all_ he does, throughout the night. The dreamland invades his mind, and he's stuck there, without having the chance to shut it all out.

He doesn't get the opportunity the sleep all evening. His body is beginning to shut itself off. But of course he is unaware of all of this. That is how the spell works, after all.


	4. 4: Hearing - Part One

A/N: Hi guys, sorry for the humongous long wait! Holidays, exams and whatnot happened, coupled with my lack of inspiration/Writer's Block. So… remember impish_dragon's Musts List? Well, I'm sort of sidetracking from it. It was a good starting point, but I'm gonna start breaking some of those rules. You'll see.

I would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter, mainly because it's not Dyson-centric. Tell me how I did here, in a _review_! Love those, just so you know ;)

Thanks for reading, and enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Lost Girl; I'm merely borrowing its world and changing it up to suit my fantasies.

**4: Second Sense: Hearing – Part One**

Morning sunlight filters in through the many crevices in Bo's and Kenzi's home. Everything that has happened just hours ago is taking its toll on Bo, but there's no question in her mind in regards to what she needs to do to keep Kenzi safe.

The night flew by for her as she watched her friend murmur gentle nothings in her slumber, finally letting herself get the rest she so needed. Lauren's sudden interruption right after they'd gotten home; them having to throw Dyson out (literally) when it looked like he wouldn't move from Kenzi's side even if the house was on fire…

She had spent the night trying to come up with any number of explanations as to why Dyson was acting in a way that baffled her, until Trick called her a couple of hours ago with the answer, leaving her in an even worst state than before.

She has said nothing to Kenzi of it yet, nor does she plan to on the short term. The poor girl has already been through a lot in the past couple of weeks, and Bo is convinced that burdening her with this knowledge is bound to overflow her already brimming glass of water.

The early morning hours found Bo analysing the situation at hand, though she knows that try as she may, her abilities cannot be of much help to the man she used to love. The man she still loves, in a way, although not as passionately as before. All of her hope of finding a way to help him falls on her grandfather and her girlfriend, and even they didn't sound so enthusiastic about finding a cure for Dyson's ailment.

Bo knows very little of the Fae world, but she knows how to realise when something's beyond anyone's help, she knows that sometimes there's no other way out of a particularly tough predicament but through the worst of it. And it looks like they're gonna have to go through some very fucked up shit to get out of this mess.

It has been killing her, but she has finally decided: Between saving Kenzi and saving Dyson, she'll forever choose her sister. This is no longer a question in her mind.

Trick has warned her of the effects of the spell that's hurting Dyson. So while he and Lauren try to look for cures for their friend, Bo has taken the very important job of not letting Kenzi out of her sight. She has even accompanied Kenzi to the bathroom, rooting herself in the doorway, just in case.

Normally, Kenzi would make a snarky remark and ask her to go the hell away while she tries to take a leak. But the look of sorrow on Bo's face, the fallen shape of her shoulders and the very clear black bags under Bo's bloodshot eyes have stopped her from doing so.

Bo still insists that everything's fine, that she's just a little tired and should be okay after a having a tiny snack; but Kenzi's no fool, and the way Bo mirrors her movements and watches her over… it makes Kenzi feel like there's something she's missing, something Bo hasn't told her.

Anyway, if Kenzi had contracted a fatal disease in that awful cave, Bo wouldn't have waited this long to tell her that her life's in danger. And she would have certainly had her shackled to one of Lauren's hospital beds by now, holding her down onto it for good measure.

So, no, her life must not be in any danger… any _immediate_ danger. Being a human in a Fae world is a dangerous feat in itself. Still, she remembers that every single time she's needed her, Bo's been there. She will always be there for her, the same way that Kenzi will always be there to support Bo.

She has not regained her full strength; still, Kenzi has made the colossal effort of walking down the stairs all on her own to show Bo that she _is _getting better, while thanking the heavens that her friend can only read sexual tension in a person's body. Otherwise, she'd know that the still healing cuts on Kenzi's legs are burning her like hell, and that it's a wonder that she can stand, let alone walk all this way unaided.

The bear trap that had clutched her, imprisoning her, has left deep marks that will never fade, always reminding Kenzi of the nightmare she went through. _What's one more horror to my ever growing list, right_?, she thinks. There's no need to give Bo one more reason to worry. Kenzi's a big girl; she'll learn how to handle this, like she always does.

Kenzi's depleted her full energy supply with her little trip to the living room. She lets out a loud _harrumph _as she plops down on the sofa, feeling Bo's eyes on the back of her neck and pretending she doesn't notice her lowering her voice as she talks over the phone. Keeping up the pretence, she turns on the TV, turning down the volume almost all the way.

Some very delicious smells coming from the kitchen area are hitting her nostrils, making her stomach let out a chain of growls, one after the other. If there's one thing Kenzi's always been proud of is her ability to get all the nourishment her body needs and never feel the need to puke it back out.

"What are you making me, mama?" Kenzi shouts over her shoulder.

A part of her is playing a part for Bo's sake, while another part of her really is curious about what she'll be putting in her mouth in a couple of minutes. The smells are making her mouth water.

Knowing that her appetite is functioning properly takes the edge off Bo's thoughts. She cannot stop herself from straining to hear footsteps on her doorstep, or from looking out the windows to see if anyone is coming. Last night was really hard for her and she could really do with some help now.

Kenzi, on the other hand, had a fantastic night's sleep. She always said to herself that Bo and Dyson would come save her if she needed them, but after their impressive rescue yesterday, she _knows_ that this is true and will hold true forever.

She remembers her dreams from the previous night, too, images of Dyson at her feet while she rested and of him carrying her through darkness. These were not as upsetting as you might think, because in that blackness, she could hear voices she recognised, and more importantly, she could feel Dyson's heart beating under her ear, a tranquil rhythm that set the pace to her dreams.

Kenzi looks up at her sister as Bo hands her a cup of hot cocoa and places a grilled cheese sandwich on the coffee table. She does not sit beside her, though, choosing instead to stand under the doorframe that separates the living area from the door. However exhausted Bo might be, Kenzi knows better than to ask her to go take a nap for a little while. It would be of no use, and she doesn't want to upset her for nothing. Bo will rest when she feels it is right… or when Kenzi whacks her on the forehead with a frying pan to subdue her.

The cup is a little too hot, but it's not a bother for Kenzi. Her fingers wrap completely around it, trying to absorb its heat through osmosis. The club house, as trashed as it looks, is actually patched up in all the right places, keeping the warmth inside. But Kenzi's chest still feels chilly, for reasons entirely alien to this.

The girls have never fixed the lock on the door, and only sometimes they remember to put the bolt on it to keep it shut. It used to scare Kenzi half to death to have her front door open by a stranger (remember how many times have they had to deal with crazy Fae in their house?).

From the way Bo's been acting all morning, Kenzi's pieced together the fact that she's been expecting someone. So she focuses her attention elsewhere while she hears the front door open.

A little moan of appreciation escapes her mouth as she swallows the chocolaty goodness in her hands. Bo's learned how to make it to perfection: A thick, heavy substance that is not overly sweet and just hot enough to last her a good while.

She does not need to turn her head to see that Lauren has just come in; it is evident it is her by the way Bo sighs in relief when she sees her. Kenzi did not, however, even think that Tamsin would be tagging along with the doc.

The blond Valkyrie crosses her line of vision in a thrice and settles down next to Kenzi on the sofa, surprising her. Whatever Kenzi thought she knew of her, she knows now that this is a woman with a thick, thick skin. And she wonders if that skin might be starting to break a little, showing Tamsin's true colours.

"Well, look who's up and about in record time," Tamsin says, overly cheerfully, looking Kenzi in the eye.

Ever since she can remember, ever since her father taught her to play poker, Kenzi's been able to read people and find out their intentions just by looking at their expressions. It's what's gotten her out of many sticky situations, an ability that's saved her life many countless times.

"Yeah, well, I couldn't stay in bed forever, ya know?" she replies.

Tamsin's smile may fool others, but Kenzi notices that it's a bit too forced, her eyes not quite catching on the feeling and her jaw tensing from the lie it's just uttered. And here's something Kenzi has mastered over the years too: When she smiles back at Tamsin, it is a genuine thing that lights up her face and masks her real emotions from everyone.

Tamsin straightens up, almost realising that this is not something they ordinarily do, sit down and chat like this. Flashing lights and blaring sirens go off on Kenzi's mind (obviously something big is going on, there's no other plausible explanation for Bo to be so content in letting Tamsin in their home), but she's strong, and she'll keep up the charade for as long as she has to. Nerves destroyed her in the Cave, but here she's the one holding the reins.

Lauren's been whispering into Bo's ear. Her hands travel up and down Bo's arms while she gives her a pointed look, giving Bo no other choice but to look back at her. Feeling slightly defeated, Bo nods unperceptively and moves to sit on the armchair opposite the girls. Kenzi can see the effort she's making to keep her eyes open and it's hurting her to see her like this.

As Lauren walks closer, Kenzi spots the doctor's bag she's carrying on her hand and her whole body immediately tenses. She is _so _done with tests!

Tamsin's hands come to rest on her arms, and Kenzi notices that she's moved closer to her and away from Lauren's invasive hands. Surprisingly, Tamsin's touch is soothing, her hold on her is gentle and Kenzi somehow knows that she's not gonna force her to do anything she doesn't want to. She's just trying to let her know that she's here for her, too.

Lauren's caught on to Kenzi's look by now. She sits on the coffee table, pushing the now cold sandwich aside to make room for her bag. She turns her head and finds that Bo has finally fallen asleep. She could have used her help here, but it's not like she needs to draw more blood from Kenzi… for now.

Holding her hand up, Lauren says, "I'm not here to poke you again, Kenzi." Her eyebrows lift as she looks at Kenzi, trying to make her believe her.

Kenzi looks at Lauren's huge eyes and what she sees there calms her. _No wonder Bo's so fond of the doc. She does have a strange ability, for a human_, she thinks.

Lauren breaks the eye contact to look for something in her bag. "I just… need…" she says, rummaging through her stuff, "a sample of your hair."

She's finally found what she was looking for: A pair of surgeon scissors and a small glass flask. Sighing, Lauren takes a strand of rebel hair out of her face and tucks it behind an ear. She knows that Bo's right, that this is not the best time to tell Kenzi the truth, and she needs to come up with a good excuse to explain why she needs more of Kenzi's hair. It must be the hundredth and fifth time she's asked her for it.

Why Lauren would want more of her hair, when she's already cut like half of it already is beyond Kenzi. Yet she knows the doc wouldn't be here asking for more if she didn't really need it. Which again brings Kenzi to wonder what Bo is -scratch that-, what _everyone_ is hiding from her.

"Sure thing, doc," says Kenzi, leaning forwards. Maybe Bo won't tell her the truth, but Kenzi is willing to try and break Lauren's force of will. "What, you planning on opening a salon or something?" she teases. "Just FYI, I ain't chopping off my hair for you-"

A crashing sound interrupts her midsentence. Something's collided with her front door and she does not like the sound of it. Nor does she like the way Tamsin's hands are now gripping her tighter, nor the way Lauren's expression is going into panic mode. And she certainly does not approve of Bo being woken up like this, when it's clear that her stamina is rapidly decreasing, almost to a breaking point.

When the door opens (actually, when it's _yanked_ open) and she sees Dyson standing on the threshold, panting loudly, she lets out a sigh of relief. But, for some reason, Bo's jumped up from her armchair, Tamsin's circling her waist with her right arm and Lauren's standing up and standing directly on her line of vision, almost as if she were trying to keep _her_ out of _his_ sight.

Kenzi's hyperactive mind is trying to decipher why these three women are acting so overprotective of her. She sees Bo walking towards Dyson, pulling strength from God knows where to keep her going. Bo places a hand on his chest, but he doesn't seem to notice her.

Dyson's deep sighs reach her ears; she can see him craning his neck to take a better look at her. Then she locks gazes with him, really looking at him now that he's closer… and _holy shit. _

If she thought Bo looked like hell, then she has no words for how Dyson looks in that moment. Kenzi could have sworn that it was only yesterday that she saw him… and yet, his _face_. It's completely sunken in, his cheekbones peeking out at her from under his flesh. His eyes are caved in their sockets, more red than blue, and every strand of hair on him has been washed off its colour.

He looks terrible. He looks half dead.

And he's looking at her with such _longing_ in his eyes… it's completely freaking her out, more than whatever she went through in Inari's cave.

Her own pain forgotten, Kenzi tries to pry herself off of Tamsin's vice-like grip, but the Valkyrie's not having it. She can hear Tamsin's voice in her ear, but it's a noise she's purposefully drowning out. Lauren has not moved from her post: She's taken the surgeon scissors and is gripping them as if she were ready to use them as a weapon. And Bo… Bo is holding a paralysed Dyson, a confused expression clear on her tired face.

Kenzi realises that the three of them are waiting for him to pounce on her, but she knows he wouldn't do that. And why does he look like _that_?

Meanwhile, Dyson's quiet. He does not say a word. Why would he? There's nothing important that he can say. None of his words are worth anything, anyway. He's learnt this from Her, in their Dreamland. Words are never necessary. Actions are what count.

He spent a good part of his morning playing with Her. But when She disappeared again and didn't come back, he knew he had to look for her elsewhere. So he came here. Because She told him to.

All that time with Her, he learnt so much… he realised he's been a fool most of his life. He knows that nothing else matters much now. His life has gone full circle, almost coming to a close. But before it can do that, he needs to be near her.

He's come to see the real her because he got tired of her doppelgänger. That one may try to be as funny or smart as Kenzi, but there's no comparison when it comes to her. She's one of a kind.

He ran all the way here. Ran as fast as he could and jumped up the gates to get to the door, before he tore it open, hearing her heartbeat (he's also learnt to make it out from among a crowd) calling out a song just for him.

As he entered, he was able to feel these kinds of scents, presences, almost, but he could see no one other than her. She was waiting for him, all by herself in this big old house. A sense of rage invades him; _how could they have left her alone after what happened? _

But no matter. He's here now, and he'll keep her safe and sound. You could hardly tell she'd been held captive by a raving lunatic until yesterday. She looks… whole. It makes him happy to see her like this. So, _so_ deeply happy. He couldn't take his eyes off of her even if he wanted to.

But now he's noticing that she's struggling against something invisible to him, and that she looks royally pissed. He's beginning to wonder what's holding him back, keeping him from getting to her, and why she looks like she's ready to punch someone in the _cojones_.

He is fighting it, impossibly, but true. Her sight is reaching into the farthest corners of his mind and quickly pulling him back out again. The pressure on his chest solidifies and he recognises the scents that surround him. He's nearly out of it, barely hanging onto reality.

Dyson can see now Tamsin's arms on Kenzi's waist. He sees how tightly she's holding her, how little Kenzi appears to be enjoying it, and a fresh wave of anger flows through his veins. The rumbling of his chest echoes on Bo's hand, but she does not take it away.

"Will someone _please _explain to me what the holy fuck is going on here!" Kenzi shouts.

It's her string of words, her choice of vocabulary and the fact that she chose to speak _now_, what finally manages to pull him back under. His anger subsides, and he's back to being what he's fast becoming: A shell of himself.


End file.
